Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
Acknowledgements
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA • Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd) • Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Copyright © 2008 by Bill Loehfelm
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. Published simultaneously in Canada
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Loehfelm, Bill.
Fresh kills / Bill Loehfelm.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-436-25791-6
1. Fathers—Death—Fiction. 2. Murder—Fiction. 3. Loss (Psychology)—Fiction.
4. Staten Island (New York, N.Y.)—Fiction. I.Title.
PS3612.O36F
813’.6—dc22
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Book design by Lovedog Studio
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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To my parents, Steve and Diane McDonald, thanks for the greatest gift a son can get, your always being there.
And to my wife, AC Lambeth, thank you for being here now.
Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.
—Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep
ONE
I DON’T OFTEN ANSWER MY DOOR WITH A GUN IN MY HAND. LESS often at noon on a Sunday. But that day someone beat on my door like they were gonna kick it in, jarring me right out of a perfectly good sleep next to a perfectly naked woman and right into a brutal hangover. I told the woman to go back to sleep, reached for the nightstand, yanked open the top drawer, and grabbed my gun.
It was a nine-millimeter, loaded, that I used mostly as a prop. Every five or six months a new junkie moved into the neighborhood, marked my comings and goings, and figured I was easily rattled out of a few bucks by a skin-and-bones wraith that held his fighting weight eating the cheese out of rat traps. He’d bang on my door, ask if he could wash my car, or watch my mail, or some other money-hustling shit like that, and I’d answer with the nine. I’d explain how the gun not only took care of my car and my mail, but my stereo and my liquor cabinet, too. Negotiations always ended there.
In the apartment above, the neighbor’s dog barked like crazy.
“Jesus, all right already,” I hollered, crossing the living room. “I’m coming.” I leaned close to the door. “Whadda you want?”
“Junior, open the door. It’s important.”
“Says who?”
“C’mon, Junior. I’ve been calling you all morning. So has your sister. It’s Purvis.”
My sister? Purvis? Why was he talking to my sister? Why was she calling me? I looked down at the gun in my hand and realized I was naked. And that the guy at my door was actually Detective Purvis.
“What happened to my sister?” I asked.
“Julia’s fine,” Purvis said. “This concerns something else.”
“This official business? Can it wait?”
“Yes to the first,” Purvis said. “No to the second. Open the door right now.”
“I need to get dressed. Another minute won’t kill you.” Through the door, I could hear him swearing. Fuck it, why not try the truth, I had nothing to hide. “Thing is, I got a gun and a naked girl in here.”
There was a long silence. I figured he’d moved down the hall to call for backup.
“They’re both legal,” I said, lying about the gun. “And neither has anything to do with the other.”
“Thirty seconds,” Purvis said. “Put some clothes on and do not open the door with the gun in your hand.”
I set the gun on the end table and ducked into the bedroom for jeans and a T-shirt. Molly stirred. The bedcovers had drifted down to her hips. I took a moment to admire her, then pulled the sheet and blanket to her shoulders. Mumbling, she asked who was at the door, snuggling deeper into the bed. I didn’t answer, wondering as I dressed how much trouble I’d have keeping her out of whatever I was about to get into. I walked, barefoot, back into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind me.
“All right,” I said, unlocking the dead-bolts and twisting the doorknob. “I’m dressed and the gun is sitting on the table immediately to your right as you walk in.” I opened the door.
Purvis grimaced, waving a hand in front of his nose as I let him into the apartment. “Long night? You smell like it.” He glanced at the gun. “I hope you didn’t drive home.”
“What’re you doing here? And what’s it got to do with my sister?”
He crossed his arms. “John, your father’s dead. He was shot this morning, not far from the house.” He waited for me to say something. I didn’t. The pounding in my head doubled and I felt sick. “Outside the Optimo deli.” Another pause. Maybe waiting for a question. “I’m sorry.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to catch my breath and will my stomach to be still. I wondered what was stranger, that my father had been shot, or that it was Purvis standing there telling me. We’d known each other since we were kids, grew up across the street from each other. He knew my family. Then, in high school, Purvis and I had a falling-out he’s never been able to leave behind him. “No, you’re not sorry,” I said. “And neither am I. And you know it.”
“Gimme a little credit, John. I don’t like seeing anyone die. I don’t like telling anyone about the loss of a loved one.” He paused. “Even you.” He almost grinned. “Either way, I’m gonna need that gun.”
“Take it. I got nothing to hide.”
“I hope that’s the truth,” Purvis said, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.
“Whatever, Purvis.” Despite his news, he bored me already.
He just snapped the rubber
at his wrists. He picked up the gun and dropped it into a clear plastic bag. He put the bag in his jacket pocket. “You may want me on your side on this,” he said, peeling off the gloves.
“Enjoying yourself?” I asked. I hadn’t shot the old man, and Purvis, despite his tough-cop act, knew it. If he really thought I’d done it, he’d have been at the door with his gun and cuffs out, and about fourteen other cops. If I wanted, I could tell him right now what the police lab would tell him in a couple of days, if the gun ever made it there. That gun had never been fired.
“We’re going to your parents’ house,” Purvis said. “My partner’s waiting for us. He wants to talk to you about this, obviously.”
“You talked to my sister?” I asked.
“Called her myself this morning.” He checked his watch. “She’s arriving soon. Said she was leaving right away.” He looked down at my feet. “Put some shoes on and let’s get going. I’m sure you want to get this over with.”
“How about you don’t give me orders,” I said. “I can get there on my own.”
“Waters told me to bring you,” he said.
“I’m not riding over there in the back of a cop car like a goddamn criminal.” I walked to the window, pulled aside the shade, and looked down at Purvis’s terribly obvious, unmarked white sedan. “Shit, it’s bad enough the whole block’ll be thinking I’m a narc.”
“We’ve waited long enough,” Purvis said. “Waters is getting pissed.”
“I’ll drive over myself,” I said, walking back over to him. I nodded toward the bedroom. “I’ve got company to attend to.” Then the name he’d dropped finally fell into place. “Nat Waters? He’s in on this?”
“He’s my partner. We’ve got the case.”
This was getting richer by the moment. “I’ll be there,” I said, shooing him toward the door. “Scurry back to your boss and tell him I’m on my way.”
Purvis stopped in the doorway. “You are still a fucking asshole.”
“Whatever,” I said, and slammed the door in his face.
MOLLY SAT IN THE MIDDLE of the bed, the bedclothes kicked down to her ankles, her knees drawn up to her chest, her black cherry hair loose over her shoulders. She glowed in the afternoon sun shining through the window behind her. She blinked at me, apprehension on her face.
“Did I just hear Purvis call you an asshole?” she asked.
I crossed my arms and leaned in the doorway. “That you did. Neither the first nor the last time that’ll happen.”
She rolled her eyes, kicked her feet free, and slid to the edge of the bed, reaching down for her clothes. She knew my history with Purvis, found the enduring antagonism rather pathetic. She knew it had started with her. “What was he doing here? I thought you two fell out years ago.”
“We did,” I said. “It was business.” I hesitated, unsure of how to tell her the news, unsure if I wanted to. “Police business.” She stopped dressing and stared at me, waiting. I couldn’t leave it there; she’d make all the wrong assumptions if I did. Hell, I figured, it’s not like she won’t find out anyway. “My father’s been killed. Somebody shot him this morning.”
Molly stood up straight, her eyes wide, mouth hanging open, her jeans pulled only halfway up her thighs. “Jesus.” She crossed her arms over her bare chest, fingers splayed open over her collarbone,as if hearing the news half-naked shamed her. “Good Lord, John, that’s awful.” She pulled her jeans up to her hips and sat back down on the bed.
“I guess so,” I said. I pulled a Camel from the pack on the dresser. I cupped my hand around the end and lit it, tossing the lighter on the bed. Molly grabbed it and lit one from her pack on the nightstand.
“Jesus,” she said, perching her face on her palm, elbow resting on her knee. She didn’t ask any questions, didn’t get up to hug me, didn’t wave me over to the bed. She just sat, staring at the wall, smoking, saying nothing.
After she’d finished half her smoke, she set it in the ashtray and stood to finish getting dressed. I watched, sorry she was wrapping up that long, fluid body she’d shared with me through the sunrise hours. Still, I was anxious for her to go. I needed to get to my sister. And I knew Molly wanted out of my apartment. She checked the clock three times as she dressed. I figured I’d make it easier on her.
“I hate to rush you out the door,” I said, “but I’ve got to get to the house and see my sister. The cops are waiting there for me, too.”
She strapped on her watch, staring at it for a long time. Calculating, I knew, her schedule, her excuses, and the right thing to say about the news I’d shared.
“I should’ve been out of here hours ago,” she said. “I’m supposed to be grading papers. David’s picking me up for an early dinner.”
“Tell him I said hey.”
She raised an admonishing finger at me. “Leave him out of this.” She frowned at the bed. “This has got nothing to do with him.”
She slipped past me through the doorway, careful to avoid contact.I fought the urge to grab her wrist and drag her back into bed. Fuck Purvis and Waters, fuck David, fuck my father. I didn’t want any of them anywhere near my afternoon. But all I did was hold out my hand, letting Molly’s hair run through my fingers as she went by.
She stopped in the living room, halfway to the front door, searching through her purse for her keys. “Don’t do that, either. That’s the rule. When it’s time for me to go, you let me get from the bed to the door without touching me.”
I smiled. Molly with all her rules. Don’t pick on David, don’t ask about work, don’t ask about her brother or her folks. Don’t call her, she’ll find me. I guess it kept our thing under control for her, let her keep me out on the edge of her life, where she could reach me, but I couldn’t touch anything but her. It worked for me. I had no interest in the things she didn’t want me touching. I lived with them, these rules about the people in her life. In exchange, she gave me free reign over her body, put no limits on what I could touch there. Seemed like a fair trade to me.
She stopped again at the door, turning to me. “Are you gonna be okay? I guess I could call David and cancel.” She looked up at the ceiling. “If I could think of some excuse.”
“A friend’s dead father doesn’t cut it?”
“Stop,” she said. “You know he doesn’t know we’re even in touch again, never mind . . . doing what we’re doing.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Go see your boyfriend. Do I look like I’m about to break down? I don’t need anything from you.” I shrugged. “We’re old friends, we fuck every now and then, nothing more, nothing less. I’m not asking you for anything.”
She stared at me a long time. “You’ve never been one to mince words, John. Sometimes it stings.”
“C’mon, Molly,” I said. “I can see the relief in your face. You’re off the hook. You know you want it that way. Don’t bullshit either of us.” I crossed the room to her. Stood close enough to smell us on her skin. “That’s what makes this work between us, bare, stone-cold naked honesty.” I backed off, turned away, and walked into the kitchen. She followed.
“You know the old man died to me years ago,” I said, pouring ground coffee into a filter. “This morning is a technicality. I’d have nothing to do with it if it wasn’t for my sister, cops or no cops.” I filled the coffeepot with water and turned it on. I leaned back against the counter. “If you hadn’t been with me all night, you’d be wondering the same thing as Purvis, whether or not I capped him myself.”
“I’d never think that,” she said. “And I’m sure Purvis doesn’t, either.”
“Why not? You think I wouldn’t do it?”
“Never, in a million years,” she said. “I don’t care how many fistfights the two of you have had. Be serious. You? Kill your own father? Even Purvis knows that’s ridiculous. Bare-knuckled honesty. Isn’t that what you were just talking about?”
Fresh Kills Page 1
